12: After The Dance
524 Words
The dance should have ended the moment the music stopped. Couples laughed, the DJ wrapped up his set, and students spilled out into the cool autumn night. But for me, the night wasn’t over.
Because Jason hadn’t let go of my hand.
“Come on,” he murmured, tugging me toward the exit.
“Jason—” I whispered, panicked. “People will see—”
“Let them,” he cut in, his tone low, almost defiant.
The air outside was sharp with the scent of fallen leaves, the gym’s muffled music fading behind us. We stopped under the glow of a lamppost, away from the clusters of laughing students. My pulse hammered so hard I thought he’d hear it.
Jason released my hand finally, but his eyes stayed locked on mine. They weren’t mocking now. They weren’t guarded. They were raw.
“You know you drive me crazy, right?” he said, his voice rough.
I blinked, my breath catching. “I… what?”
He raked a hand through his hair, pacing a short step before facing me again. “You argue with me, you stand up to me, you don’t care who I am or what anyone else thinks. Nobody does that, Olivia. Nobody except you.”
The words hit me like a wave. My throat went dry.
“This is wrong,” I whispered, though my voice lacked conviction.
“Yeah,” he admitted, stepping closer. “But it doesn’t change the fact that I…” He trailed off, his jaw tightening as if the words cost him something. “That I want you.”
The ground shifted beneath me. My mind screamed at me to step back, to remind him that we were step-siblings, that this was dangerous. But my heart—my reckless, traitorous heart—whispered something else.
And when Jason’s hand brushed against mine again, I didn’t pull away.
His touch was tentative at first, almost careful. Then bolder, his fingers sliding between mine, claiming me in the quiet way words couldn’t.
“Jason…” I whispered, torn between fear and longing.
He leaned down, his breath warm against my ear. “Tell me to stop, and I will.”
The night hung suspended, my answer caught in my throat. Every nerve in my body screamed to say no, to put distance between us. But the truth was, I didn’t want him to stop.
Before I could decide, a burst of laughter echoed nearby. A group of students spilled out of the gym, their voices carrying. Jason stiffened instantly, his mask snapping back into place. He let go of my hand like it burned.
“Go inside,” he muttered, his tone sharp again. “Before someone sees.”
I swallowed hard, my chest aching at the sudden distance. “Jason—”
“Go,” he repeated, harsher this time, though his eyes betrayed the conflict raging inside him.
I hesitated, then turned and walked back toward the gym, my steps unsteady.
But as I slipped inside, I knew one thing for certain.
We had crossed a line tonight.
And there was no going back.
- Writer
